


intimacy of strangers

by momobamiyuki



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, and hizzie, bcs homegirl gotta be rich in this economy, expect a lot of thinking, it also has a twist, lizzie is a ceo!!, mostly bcs i wanted to write bartender hope, so like expect hope to be an assassin part time, so yes enjoy it, the ceo and bartender au this deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momobamiyuki/pseuds/momobamiyuki
Summary: They stare at each other for a moment which feels suspended in time.Hope looks away.Elizabeth gets in the car.aka hope and lizzie meet and fall in love over a bottle of scotch and sometimes between bodies
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman, Penelope Park/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 191





	intimacy of strangers

**Author's Note:**

> im bACK!!!! WITH!! GUESS WHAT!! A HIZZIE FIC!! this concept has two months being written and i just finished it the other day! thank u to my lovely beta becko and alex and liz i love u gays so much,, a shoutout to boc for being the best fam and my son tay and ale who are the best supporters love u gays!
> 
> hope u enjoy this a lot!

2:00 am.

_ You are warming up all of the rooms _

_ In every corner of my heart _

_ You tempted me with a thousand and one thoughts _

Hope wipes the glass, places it on the counter.

It’s still raining, pouring, the sound echoing around the small and nearly empty club. Hope smiles, snaps open a gin bottle and fills the glass before her.

The shot burns her throat in the best of ways. Burns her throat as she swallows it and she is idly reminded of how it felt to swallow the emotions she couldn’t control.

Hope looks at the clock.

2:15 am.

Penelope is probably over at Josie’s. Landon is probably with Raf or Jed. Her apartment on the second floor of the bar is probably empty. Hope swallows the loneliness that burns just as harsh as the liquor.

But then red flashes on the corner, a corner hidden by the wall of drinks. Hope leans over the counter, sees a hint of a dress and smiles.

“The bar closed an hour ago, you know,” Hope calls out, knows the stranger probably heard her.

The scraping of the chair against the ground says yes, they heard her. And clearly, they didn’t care. 

Hope doesn’t look up, notices a blur of red and blonde and continues wiping the glass, loosens her tie and pops open the two buttons of her black button-down.

“Then I guess you should kick out the stragglers,” says the woman. 

Hope turns then. Sees long blond hair in waves, sees the most sinfully cut red dress and sees the smirk on her face.

She shrugs, places the towel on her shoulder. “Everyone that comes here are usually locals. Not the kind of bar for new people, Miss…”

“Elizabeth,” says the girl. Hope nods her head, raises a glass and an eyebrow.

“I’m Hope. A last drink then?”

Elizabeth only smiles.

The grandfather clock by the corner rings out.

2:30 am.

_ Like a summer’s fog, you touch up the heels of my hands _

_ You make me feel goosebumps that come and go like butterflies _

“Scotch on the rocks.” 

Hope prepares it in silence and settles it before the woman. She could see her more clearly now. Elizabeth was definitely older than her by several years, but there was a grace and beauty in her that left Hope itching to touch and observe closer.

Elizabeth looks at her then, meets Hope’s gaze with the deepest ocean eyes Hope has ever seen in her life.

“Won’t you join me?” asks Elizabeth, her smirk too edgy to be a simple request.

And Hope was raised better than to reject a drinking offer with a beautiful lady.

She makes another scotch and clinks it against Elizabeth’s glass, drinking it slowly and looking at her over the rim of the tumbler. The gaze is calm as music plays in the background.

“It’s surprising to see a girl working so late in a club,” remarks Elizabeth, still staring at her glass.

“Not when I’m the owner of the place,” replies Hope. Elizabeth raises her eyes, curiosity clear in them. 

Their hands rest close, forearms almost touching. 

The simple intimacy of the near touch.

_ It approaches your lips, I touch your hands _

_ With hope in the magic _

_ And that maybe something happens _

“And it’s quite the bar. Build it yourself?”

Hope drinks, licks her lips and notices Elizabeth looking at them.

The clock rings again, fills the silence between them.

3:00 am.

“Bare hands and all. It might as well be my greatest creation,” confesses Hope. She seems to study her, deep in her thoughts as she looks at Hope.

Elizabeth pushes the glass on the counter, crosses her legs and Hope can see how long they are from where she is standing. Elizabeth seems to be filled with power to the brink and it makes Hope’s skin itch, makes Hope want to run away from something she can’t understand.

“Passion, that’s something rarely seen.”

Hope raises an eyebrow in question. “Passion?”

“It’s rare, the times you do something with passion and don’t end up hating it. Why's that?”

Hope thinks, settles her glass in the sink, before turning back to her guest. She can take care of that later, plays with the towel on her shoulder and checks the glasses to see if they are dried well.

“Passion is quite the fleeting feeling,” starts Hope, “it’s usually the snap to make you go for something, but not the one to keep you for the long ride. Commitment and trying hard can perhaps be blamed for that.”

Elizabeth smiles and it's a mysterious one. 

The air is suddenly tense and filled with a tension Hope can’t place her finger upon.

“I'd offer you a ride home if you want to continue this conversation. It’s pouring outside and my driver is free all night,” says Elizabeth. She speaks with a calm voice, and yet with her eyes staring into Hope’s, the request is anything but as simple as she makes it sound.

Hope looks at the clock, looks at the woman before her.

She smiles. “I live upstairs. Perhaps a longer drink?”

The clock strikes again, makes Elizabeth blink, as if pulling her back into their world.

3:15 am.

She stands up slowly. Hope feels almost disappointed.

“No need for that. We’ll meet again,” says Elizabeth. Hope watches her place a hundred dollar bill before turning and walking out.

Her driver comes by her side immediately, umbrella open and walking her out of the bar. She turns and looks towards the bar again as she reaches the car. 

They stare at each other for a moment which feels suspended in time. 

Hope looks away.

Elizabeth gets in the car.

The girl doesn’t understand her beating heart, doesn’t understand the massive bill which rests upon her counter, far too much for a simple scotch. Doesn’t understand what and who Elizabeth Saltzman is in the slightest.

Hope breathes out and drinks the remaining scotch with a single gulp.

The clock strikes again and this time it feels almost dull and hollow.

3:30 am.

_ You’re my secret _

_ And no one knows it _

\--

The bar is fuller than ever on Sunday night.

Hope is smiling the whole time, white shirt clinging to her from the heat and from sweat. She pours drink after drink, cleans glasses and fills new ones. 

It makes her feel better, feel good. There’s nothing more she loves doing than working in her small bar.

“Looking out for Miss Sugar Daddy?” says Penelope beside her. 

Hope throws her a glare, gives another shot to a customer and looks around. It’s starting to calm down and she dims the lights from the panel beside the counter.

“Will you drop it already? I told you, I don’t know what the fuck that was,” says Hope. Penelope grins, takes a shot, and Hope can’t find it in herself to be annoyed at her best friend.

“Come on, Hope. We both know what would've happened if you'd gotten into that car."

But Hope doesn’t. 

No matter how much she thinks about it, she doesn’t know where it could have led. Elizabeth didn’t seem like the type to meet a girl in a bar and offer her a night of passion. She seemed more classy and less… less what Hope would do every night she felt lonely.

“Just go serve that table over there,” says Hope. Penelope leaves with a roll of her eyes and grabs her work phone, slides to the table in easy steps.

Hope looks outside. It was a good night, the streets filled with people even if it was close to eleven. She almost feels jealous of the others who could go out.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She isn’t surprised when she meets Elizabeth’s eyes, glinting in the low light of the bar. Hope smiles, wipes another glass and pours a scotch without a second thought.

“Make it ten bucks and you get a drink too,” teases Hope. 

Elizabeth laughs. “That cheap to talk with you? You might have to think about raising your prices.”

She grabs the drink from Hope’s hand and their fingers touch. It’s a simple contact, fleeting and yet it feels like so much more. Especially when she sees her smirk hidden poorly behind the glass.

“What brings you here again, Elizabeth?”

“Lizzie. You can call me Lizzie, you know. Elizabeth makes me sound old.”

Hope raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you like, a hundred years old?”

She thinks as if for a moment she might have offended her, but Lizzie only leans on her elbows and whispers, as if telling her a secret only for their ears.

“Pushing two hundred, but I love the compliment,” says Lizzie. The joke would receive a fake laugh if others had made it, but Hope laughs sincerely, blue eyes glinting.

“You don’t seem like someone who goes to bars like these.”

Lizzie raises an eyebrow. “What kind of bars do I seem like I would like, then?”

Hope bites her lip in thought, the towel falling on her hands from her shoulder. She plays with it, continues leaning on the counter to talk with Lizzie.

“You know, the ones where you need to be on the guest-list to get in. And the list is twelve people long”

Lizzie tilts her head. “And here I thought wearing jeans and a shirt would make me fit in.”

Hope takes in her outfit. Black tight jeans and a red shirt, simple for anyone but Lizzie. She throws her a teasing smirk.

“Today, you look right at home. Want another?”

“Yes, please. And thank you. Those rich bars really don’t pour scotch like you do.”

Hope freshens Lizzie’s drink with a flourish, adding ice and moves to make some others, taking care of each drink diligently. 

“Commitment, Elizabeth. Making each drink is like giving birth to a child. A _ very _ alcoholic child.”

Lizzie laughs as she sips the drink. Hope is starting to enjoy her smile.

“I thought I told you not to call me Elizabeth.”

Hope rolls her eyes, still smiling as she serves another customer. “And you told me you were nearly two centuries, so it's only me being respectful.”

Lizzie waits to reply, feigning hurt. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to treat a lady like this?”

Back in high school, Hope decided upon a term: _ stranger’s intimacy _.

A closeness and peace you could only feel with people that you didn’t know well. The same feeling you had when you were in the middle of a forest you had never been before and could hear every movement, every breath in and out. 

Hope loves that intimacy. Loves that she and Lizzie know close to nothing about each other. Loves that that only makes them feel closer. Loves that because of it she has more freedom to tease Lizzie.

So far and _ yet, _ so close.

“I’m sure my mother taught me to respect my elders. But she didn’t say a thing about pretty ladies who pass centuries hanging around seedy bars.”

Lizzie grins and doesn’t reply this time. Hope is okay with that, doesn’t mind as she serves other customers. Penelope comes too, nods at Lizzie and winks at Hope. Time passes fast between serving Lizzie drinks and chips and making cocktails.

Hope sighs when she finally rests, raising her eyes to look at the grandfather clock on the corner.

1:15 am.

Penelope walks at the counter. “Our special client is here, you might want to make something with gin for him.”

Hope raises her eyes and looks at the corner of the room. Sam, that was his name, sits with a sleazy grin and waves at her. 

She fills the glass with gin and pops a pill in there. “And everything else ?”

Penelope grins. “Locked and loaded.”

Hope nods her head and watches as she leaves, tapping the counter harder and relaxing when she hears the click of metal under it.

“Do you always work yourself?” asks Lizzie. Hope turns to her, almost forgetting she was there.

She shakes her head. “When business is quiet, Josie, Penelope’s girlfriend usually takes my place. But I love working here, so most of the time I work as a bartender.”

Lizzie smiles, leaning forward and playing with her fingers. “Is being a bartender all you want in life?”

Hope pauses. She thinks of the notebook in her study, of all the places and foods and things she wants to try, if only just once. A sad smile appears on her lips, touching the gun under the counter with reverent fingers.

There are many reasons why Hope has to stay, reasons that are difficult to step away from. She'll be here for a while yet, but it's not the worst place in the world. "For now? Yeah."

Lizzie sees the uncertainty in her eyes and it seems to fuel her more. 

“You don't seem so sure, Hope. If, hypothetically, you could do something else now, what would you want to do?”

“Travel.”

Lizzie is surprised at how fast the reply comes. Hope looks detached from the present in this moment, wiping a glass slowly.

“I love traveling. Most of my childhood memories were in different places, never the same place for too long because of my father’s work. But I want to travel for fun, taste the food in different countries and learn more about their culture.”

A moment of silence passes. Lizzie stares at her drink frowning.

“That’s it,” says Lizzie. Hope stares at her, curious. “If you finish your _ things_, we'll travel together.”

Hope raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a dangerous thing to say to a stranger?”

Lizzie stares at her for a moment and Hope is scared that she will see the darkest corners of Hope’s soul. But Lizzie doesn’t seem scared by the request or by how Hope looks like she is hiding the world’s secrets.

“I’m a businesswoman. Pretty sure my brand is making dangerous decisions for the greater good.”

Hope smiles.

“Okay then, why the hell not?”

Lizzie smiles back and the moment lasts longer than it should. It’s broken when Lizzie looks at the clock.

“I have to go now, it’s late.”

Hope nods her head and Lizzie puts the money on the counter. Again a hundred dollar bill. Hope doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s more than enough.

“Safe trip home?”

Lizzie laughs once again. “Sure, Hope. Goodnight.”

Hope is surprised when she leans over the counter. Her lips seem to burn Hope’s cheek, and Hope knows her face is red when Lizzie turns away.

That’s how she passes her night until closing time comes. She's relaxed as a man sits before her, grin dangerous as he leaned on the counter.

“Hey there, Mikaelson. Ready for some work?”

Hope smiles at him, a smile so cold that he shivers. “Your name is Sam, right? I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

Hope laughs, void of emotion as she grabs the gun under the counter. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

He has no time to react before the gun goes off. Hope is mildly annoyed as he slumps on the counter, the blood dripping on the ground. 

“Nice aim. Need help cleaning up?” A voice emerges from behind her.

“Always. You know it’s my least favorite part.” Penelope steps close to the body, snapping a picture and giving it to Hope.

She calls the number after she sends the picture. “The job is done. I expect my payment by three,” she says simply into the phone.

The clock chimes three times. Penelope nods her head as she checks her bank account.

“Good doing business with you, tribrid,” says a voice on the other end of the line.

Hope snaps the burner phone shut and crushes it in under her heel, looking bored. She grabs the towel from around her neck and tosses the remains of the burner into a wastebasket. 

“Do you think blood will give the wood the color I wanted?”

Penelope laughs, puts a bag on the head and ties it. “I told you they were lying to you the moment they said it's price. But maybe blood will do the trick.”

Hope continues wiping up the blood and she pauses, the red reminding her of Lizzie’s shirt. She smiles sadly, thinks of a life with Lizzie and thinks of her life now.

“Let’s get this done with. I wanna sleep.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

\--

Hope groans as the phone rings, frowning when she sees the time. 

Five am.

“Yes?” she snaps angrily.

“A job for you. I sent you the information. You know what to do if you accept.”

Hope gets up, running a hand through her messy hair as she opens her window. Right under it, a file is stuck and she takes it.

She opens it without thinking much, skipping through the details in the middle.

_ CEO of Saltzman Inc. _

_ Thirty-six years old. _

_ Daughter of the late Alaric Saltzman. _

_ Seems interested in buying Kirby Corp. _

_ Need to be killed fast and in the most discreet way. Before the 20th of November. _

“At least they asked weeks before,” murmurs Hope. 

She skips to the front page, skips the height and weight and other details to the picture.

“Oh god.”

The file falls on the ground and the world shakes under her. Hope has been doing this job for a while, knows well how it works and she carries her father’s legacy with pride.

But she never took this chance into account. Never thought she would be interested in someone and see their face on a file.

_ Elizabeth Saltzman. _

Lizzie’s smiling face is almost taunting her.

Hope has never hated her work more than in that moment.

\---

After spending the morning cleaning the bar like a maniac, Hope decides it’s okay.

She can do this. All she and Lizzie have is the intimacy of two strangers who have shared a drink. Hope just has to ask her to stay late and kill her and then do whatever they instructed her to do with the body.

“Never took you for the cleaning type.”

Lizzie gasps when she is slammed against the wall, Hope’s arm pressed against her neck. Hope’s eyes widen when she registers its Lizzie, immediately dropping the hold on her.

Lizzie rubs her neck with a smirk. “And a ninja too. What can a girl ask more?”

Hope laughs, embarrassed and a part of her thinks how easily she could have killed Lizzie and be done with it. 

“I have a black belt. And come on, a free drink since I attacked you. I’m so sorry for that,” says Hope as she jumps over the counter.

“Sangria, please.”

Hope smiles, opens the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher. “Lucky for you, Josie loves it so I have a batch ready.”

Two glasses are filled slowly and Hope opts to sit beside her, as the bar was closed until 5 pm. They enjoy it in silence for a while, staring at the road behind by the windows.

“It’s one of the few things we share. For twins, we’re pretty different.”

Hope takes a moment to register her words and, when she does, she spits out her drink and stares at Lizzie. The blonde only shrugs.

“Fraternal. Don’t be so surprised.”

“Not surprised. Just… not expecting the connection.”

She drinks slowly, the perfect picture of calm and collected. Yet, inside, she felt like breaking the glass and eating it, the new information making her head hurt.

What could she even tell Penelope?

_ Oh, so I know you and your girlfriend are close to getting married but you have to help me kill her twin because of my job. _

“You okay? You look like you’re about to vomit.”

Hope can only smile as wide as she can without looking fake. “Yeah, just thinking. Also is that how you knew I would be here right now?”

“That might have been just a coincidence. Want to go for a walk?”

Hope thinks of an answer.

Thinks of how she is supposed to kill Lizzie. How she will probably kill her the same way she has taken care of everyone else. How her hands will probably be covered in her blood before the end of November and how Josie will have a sister to mourn in December.

Hope smiles and jumps from the seat.

“Sure, why not?”

\--

What is love if only not a vessel for pure passion which lasts and burns as long as the flames of hell?

Hope thinks that love is more than that, and it seems that all she can do these days is think. She thinks that it’s more than that, it’s always and forever, yes, but it’s loyalty, it’s betrayal at the hands of those you love and finding salvation in them.

She thinks that for a while, muses on it when she makes some drinks and when she blows someone’s brains with a single bullet.

Killing wasn’t something she enjoyed at first. The blood clung to her body like a second skin and it took a while for Hope to realize no matter how hard it was to get rid of it from her hands, she could never get rid of it from her conscience.

But time passes. Her parents die. Her father’s chest bleeds before her eyes as he’s killed by a rival. Her mother’s dead cold eyes stare at Hope as her own head bleeds from being killed first. Collateral damage is what they called her. 

Hope wasn’t a murderer. But she found out it was easy to become one after she lost the last of what kept her human.

Being with Lizzie reminds her of those times. The girl is nice, challenging in more ways than one and Hope loves how being with Lizzie is something new everyday. 

Being with Lizzie reminds her of what she used to think of love before. Complicated, wild and free. Getting to know Lizzie even if she had to kill her is probably the dumbest thing Hope has ever done in her life. 

She asks for extra time, says the target is hard to kill. She gets the extra time and then Hope has to kill Lizzie before Christmas.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

Hope smiles when she raises her head to look at Lizzie. The girl looks fresh out of the office, expensive three-piece blue suit looking out of place beside the wooden chairs.

“Hi there,” says Hope. She’s calmer today, breathes freely without the pressure to use the gun under her hands.

Hope cleans the glasses after she pours Lizzie one. It’s mostly silent, Lizzie on her phone and Hope tidying up the place before closing down.

The sound of a piano breaks her out of her thoughts. It seemed Lizzie had gone to the piano by the corner as Hope tidied up, a piano mostly for decor and that Hope played once in a while.

She throws the towel on her shoulder, slides the lights low on the panel. Her steps to the door aren't rush, closing the blinds and locking the door with familiar movements.

She stands behind Lizzie not a moment later. “Mind if I take a seat?”

Lizzie doesn’t really look away from the piano. Hope is okay with that, straddling the bench and being face to face with Lizzie’s body.

“I always liked _ Gizeh _ by Oskar Schuster.”

“Is it any good?” she asks. Lizzie turns to her, their faces nearly a breath apart.

She tilts her head with a smile. “Why don’t you find out?”

It’s a good tune, Hope has to admit that much. She doesn’t really focus on it, her attention mostly on Lizzie’s fingers and hands. Hands so soft and fingers so long and elegant that Hope doesn’t hesitate to raise her hand and take one in hers.

Lizzie, for all it’s worth, doesn’t say a thing. She simply plays a simple tune with one hand, just to pass the time and fill the silence.

“Do you think our mistakes shape us into becoming who we are?”

Lizzie blinks. “Out of all the questions I was expecting, that certainly wasn’t one of them.”

Hope chuckles softly, moves until she is sitting beside Lizzie, thighs and elbows touching and their hands locked in her lap.

“I feel like all the wrongs I’ve done in my life all have the same origin story. But I also think it’s a coward move to blame everything on the past.”

“So you’re asking me,” a note Hope doesn’t know echoes around them, “if you think that the mistakes you made in the past are why you are the way you are now?”

“Yes, it was something along those lines,” teases Hope. Lizzie hums, plays another soft tune and leans her head against Hope’s.

It’s not uncomfortable and it’s the closest thing that Hope has felt to a sense of calm these past few years.

“I’m the reason why me and my sister are now the CEO and CFO of our dad’s company.”

Hope breathes in. She had never asked Lizzie about her work and Lizzie hadn’t ever volunteered to say anything. It felt a lot like uncharted territory they weren’t ready to explore.

Lizzie shudders. “I’m bipolar. One day, back when I was a teenager, I had a very bad episode and... my dad couldn’t take it anymore I guess. The next morning we couldn’t find him around, only a letter saying he couldn’t take the pressure of being our father and the CEO anymore.”

Hope’s heart breaks for her - this girl who also blames herself for the brokenness of her family. 

It had been years since Hope had felt sympathy for someone else. Years since she could relate to someone so deeply. 

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Your dad is the one who is supposed to take care of you. You shouldn’t blame yourself for being the reason he couldn’t hack it as a parent.”

“But it is!” 

Hope’s eyes widen at the tone of Lizzie’s voice and at the disordered tune the piano releases when Lizzie slams her hand on it. It was the first time she wasn’t so held together, calm or smug. 

“He had some time distancing himself from us. Too many meetings, working late at night, missing my graduation. If I had seen that maybe I would have held myself back or just- just _done something._“

Hope pulls her in as Lizzie's voice breaks by the end of her words. Lizzie cries against her shoulder, her hands gripping Hope’s shirt. And she only holds her close, hand on the back of her head and the other leaning on the piano.

She could kill Lizzie now, if she wanted to. There was a gun under the piano, one she kept for emergencies or missions gone wrong. Hope could easily take it and kill Lizzie, now when she was vulnerable and easy to get rid of.

She opts to dig her grave deeper.

“I was the reason my parents died,” says Hope. Lizzie doesn’t answer, but she leans her forehead against Hope’s neck and Hope knows she is listening to her.

“My mother tried to protect me but they got rid of her without a second thought. And they killed my father after torturing him before my eyes.”

Hope closes her eyes and can almost see the horrific view before her eyes. Her lips lean on Lizzie’s head, not kissing and yet it’s comforting for the both of them.

“I blame everything I have done and still do on that. And believe me, I've done a lot.”

It’s silence for a moment. Hope taps a tune on the piano, looks towards the street in thoughts.

“I can’t say anything that will make you completely erase your guilt. But I can say that if it’s anyone’s fault your dad left, it’s his. My parents gave their life for me, I’m pretty sure your dad could have stayed and helped you through your hard times.”

“Yeah. I guess he could have,” murmurs Lizzie.

She removes herself from Hope’s embrace slowly, her eyes glinting from tears and staring into Hope’s.

“Did those who killed your parents ever get justice?”

Hope stills. She remembers a broken neck, blood all around her and two men’s heads limping against the chair with their necks cut. Remembers her loud and broken laugh as she shot their dead bodies until she had no more bullets left. Remembers crying as she washed her hands and still felt her parent’s blood on them.

Hope raises her hands and wipes Lizzie’s tears away with her thumbs. She gives Lizzie a soft smile, the softest she could give, and yet most painful.

“Yeah,” she breathes out, “yeah, they did.”

—

It’s another night of working at the bar when Lizzie comes again.

She’s wearing the same blue suit she wore two days ago. Hope smiles when she sees her and her scotch is ready when she sits on the stool.

They don’t really talk, Hope busy with making drinks and Lizzie sipping on hers. The hours pass that way until it was twelve and the last customer left.

“Hope Mikaelson.”

Hope freezes, her hand on the blinders, ready to shut them down. She turns around slowly and her eyes widen slightly when she sees the man standing before her. Lizzie is on the piano bench, unconscious and Hope hates the fact she stopped carrying a gun so Lizzie wouldn’t notice it.

“Who are you?”

The man laughs, lowers his gun a little. “The big bad tribrid. Didn’t expect you to be so... scared. I have seen you, studied every kill of yours. I expected more than a little girl like you.”

Hope doesn’t show her nervousness, trying to find a way to keep him distracted until she could get to his gun. “Oh really? You seem like those pathetic thieves who think they can pull off anything with a basic gun."

“I’ll kill you! I made this gun with bullets and they're gonna explode inside you like fucking dynamite-“

Hope’s eyes widen once again when blood starts coming from his lips. Both of them lower their head and the hilt of a sword is out of his stomach, black and dripping blood.

“Do you think you’re the only one with a special weapon?” Lizzie grins darkly behind him, sliding the sword out of him and watching calmly as he falls on the ground. “Welcome to the club, asshole.”

Hope is still frozen, trying to process the dead body between them and Lizzie holding a black sword which is dripping onto the carpet. A sword that Lizzie used to _ kill _ someone to protect Hope.

“So,” Lizzie looks comically calm standing before her, “do you have any way to get rid of this?”

—

"Next time I pray, remind me to be more specific when I say I want you two to get closer.”

Hope and Lizzie laugh as Penelope starts closing the black plastic bags, the body, or rather its pieces in them. The girl hadn’t stopped complaining ever since she came to the bar and found them sitting before a dead body in comfortable silence, drinking scotch.

“You know what they say Satan, murder brings two people closer than marriage ever will.”

Penelope grunts as she ties the bag tighter. “Pretty sure no one says that but you do you, Saltzman.”

Hope meanwhile wipes the sword in silence. She likes how beautiful it is, elegant, it’s appearance similar to one used for fencing. It shines faintly from the low lights of the bar.

“Where did you get this made?” asks Hope after Penelope leaves, dragging plastic bags with her on the way out.

Lizzie gets up and takes it from her hand. Hope likes how good it looks on her hand, sharp and dangerous. “Gift from my mother when I became CEO. Protection and all that.”

Hope watches as Lizzie lifts her shirt, the sword folding after she presses a button. The girl has a handle wrapped around her stomach and she places it there, lowering her shirt again even if Hope's eyes are still trained on her.

“So...”

“You can just ask, no dancing around. How could I kill a man?"

Hope nods her head. “Yeah, that’s the right question.”

“It’s not the first time. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Fair enough, you’ve known me for a month by now.”

Lizzie laughs and she has a dangerous glint on her eyes. “I feel like that isn’t really a problem.”

Hope smirks, leans against the counter, their bodies almost touching. “Trust me that much, _ Elizabeth _?”

“Saved your life just now, Hope. And I still have my sword on me, wouldn’t mind finishing his job.”

Hope hates that the request doesn’t scare her, only spurs her to lean closer. Lizzie’s eyes are dark, a rich blue which is only highlighted by the blue suit.

“Why don’t you then?”

Lizzie seems taken aback by her low voice and Hope shouldn’t be getting so close with her, shouldn’t when she'll be the one to kill Lizzie in cold blood.

Lizzie leans back against the stool. “I’m waiting to see if something will happen.”

The look in her eyes says more than Hope can read, a silent challenge for something she is too scared to admit Lizzie knows about. 

And yet, Hope can't help herself, keeps moving closer, drawn in by Lizzie. 

“And what’s that?”

Lizzie’s eyes flutter between her eyes and her lips, Hope smirks and likes the closeness between them.

Intimacy of two strangers, that’s what they had.

Intimacy of two people with shared secrets, that’s what they have.

“That moment when I look at you and go _ et tu, Hope? _.”

Hope’s hand sneaks on Lizzie’s hips, her fingers shake when they touch sculptured abs and then grab the sword.

It's blade is in a knife's length now as Hope raises it.

“Do it before it happens then,” whispers Hope. The sword feels unfamiliar in her hand and when Lizzie takes it, Hope feels no fear as she feels it’s blade against her neck. 

They stare into each other’s eye, both challenging the other in ways different than the other. It’s the brink of the storm, that moment when things choose the direction in which they go.

Lizzie stares at her deeply, almost studying her and this time Hope is scared to admit that a part of her _ yearns _ for Lizzie to see all the secrets Hope holds.

She should kill her now. _Can _kill her now. Can easily distract her, kiss her and grab the sword to slice her neck off. Or even go the Julius Caesar route as Lizzie said, watch the light leave Lizzie’s eyes slowly until the only heartbeat in the room was Hope’s racing one.

But she doesn’t. She does pull away the sword, throws it on the counter and Lizzie’s lips find her before Hope can mutter even a whisper. 

Lizzie is solid against her, blue suit clashing with Hope’s white shirt and grey pants. Hope groans against her lips and Lizzie lifts her up, hands still on her thighs as she sets Hope down on the counter.

Lizzie kisses her harshly, kisses her with the urgency of someone who has been denied something for such a long time they had forgotten how they would feel if they achieved it. Hope kisses her the same, hands on her cheeks and fingers putting blonde locks behind her ear.

Hope’s hand moves to her jacket, slipping under it and helping Lizzie take it off before throwing it away. She likes how the blonde looks with her vest still on but she doesn’t enjoy the view for too long, her eyes falling closed from Lizzie’s lips on her neck.

“Where's your bedroom?” whispers Lizzie. Hope blinks, tries focusing but it’s hard with Lizzie so, so close.

“Up,” is all she can mutter and a gasp escapes her lips as Lizzie walks them away from the counter, Hope still wrapped in her arms.

Taking the vest off is harder, Lizzie does her a favor when she leans her against the wall and gives Hope enough room to unbutton it. It falls on the ground after the brunette is laid on the bed, Lizzie looming over her like sweet death herself.

“I might want a house tour later,” teases Lizzie.

Hope rolls her eyes, hands swiftly unbuttoning her button-down. Lizzie helps her and Hope is amazed at the body slowly revealed.

“I’ll add an audio version as a special offer. Want some souvenirs, too?”

Lizzie grins, throws the shirt away and helps Hope take hers off. “I better get a discount as a special customer then.”

Hope doesn’t waste any time, sits up and her lips leave kisses along Lizzie’s neck, collarbone, and chest. 

“May I?”

Lizzie doesn’t reply, leans behind her and Hope slides the straps of her bra off slowly. She remains like that, hair messy and lips red and her body half-naked. Hope had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Are you going to just watch or-?”

“I want to take my time, as you should,” replies Hope.

“Take my time,” Lizzie mocks, before her grin becomes a gentle smirk. “I guess I can take my time with you, baby,” she mutters, trailing her mouth over Hope’s neck, and she feels dizzy with desire. 

This kiss is rougher than down at the bar, and Hope feels crazy with the urgency of Lizzie’s movements. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, and Lizzie smirks. “Yeah, Hope, that’s the idea.”

She moves easily, slides lower and she is kneeling between Hope’s open legs.

Lizzie doesn’t wait or take it slow, just pops the button open and slides the pants off, fingers immediately reaching between her legs.

“You’re soaked, Hope,” she whispers, and Hope should feel embarrassed by how open she has left herself. But in those moments, she really can't find it in herself to be.

“Not a big surprise,” she says, “you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself until we got here.”

Lizzie chuckles, pulling Hope’s underwear down her legs. 

“You’re going to enjoy this,” and this time Lizzie leans over, her mouth inches away from the shell of her ear, quiet, whispering. “I’m good at more than snark and flirting.”

She does prove the statement seconds later, her mouth hot against Hope and Hope’s head falls back, free and completely at Lizzie’s mercy.

Her mind becomes a blur of feelings after that, Lizzie’s lips moving over her, Hope’s hands throwing her shirt and bra off.

“Lace bra, Hope?” Lizzie questions, lips wet and sinful, “did you have plans for tonight besides taking part in murder?”

“Maybe so,” Hope gasps out, Lizzie’s hands on her hips, holding her in place. 

Hope cups her breasts, rolls her nipples between her fingers and Lizzie’s mouth moves and presses against Hope. “How are those plans going, then?” Lizzie questions, her question lost in a murmur between Hope’s legs.

Her lips slide higher, and the grip of her hands on Hope’s hips tighten and all of Hope’s replies are lost in a moan. She can almost hear Lizzie chuckle before her tongue slips against Hope’s wetness again.

She loses herself to the feeling of Lizzie in a way she had never before. 

To the feeling of her tongue, fast and clever, tracing patterns over her and curling inside of her. 

To the feeling of her own hands, thumbing over her nipples. 

Lizzie’s teeth scrape over her clit, the hint of an edge, and simultaneously, Hope’s mouth opens in a low, long moan and she rides her orgasm until Lizzie comes up a few moments later.

“Enjoyed it?” asks Lizzie, smug and glowing on top of Hope.

Hope pushes her on bed, straddles Lizzie with ease. “Not as much as I’ll enjoy this.”

——-

When she wakes up, Lizzie isn’t in bed. Hope opens her mouth to call out for her, but she doesn’t when she sees the blue button-down thrown on the chair.

She puts it on slowly, enjoys the scent of Lizzie in the material for a moment. Hope checks the drawer as she grabs a pair of panties before leaving the room, calmer when she finds the gun and knife there.

Lizzie is cooking, wearing the same pants and a shirt Hope noted that she hadn't in her the other night.

“Penelope came a few minutes ago,” says Lizzie as Hope sits on the counter, “said something about your job and told me where to find your big shirts.”

Hope nods her head, still sleepy and the kiss Lizzie gives her is long and lazy, both of them smiling against each others’ lips.

“Up for some pancakes?”

Hope laughs. “More than ever.”

She doesn’t notice the file stuck on Lizzie’s bag. Nor Lizzie’s calculating look as they eat.

—

Lizzie doesn’t come by for a few days.

Hope is worried, in more ways than one. Time passes fast and it’s a blink of an eye when it’s 15th of December. 

Lizzie texts her, telling her how busy she is with the company. That calms her down, replying to the text with an emoji as she shoots a man on his head.

She lets Josie work at the bar for the night. Hope _ has _ another job to do after all, a job she does well when she arrives at the target’s apartment.

He’s old, looks at her with a gaze filled with lust and she can only hold the conversation with him for a few minutes until she blows his head off.

Hiding the body isn’t an issue. She was instructed to leave it there, a message of some sort. Hope doesn’t really care, leaves after Penelope tells her that the payment was delivered.

She waves at Josie from afar when she arrives at the bar, her hands still bloody and the gun resting in her coat’s pocket.

Opening the door is easy, a simple eye scan and she’s in. Hope dumbs the gun on the sink and wipes her hands with a towel, moving to turn the lights on.

“Hope Andrea Mikaelson.”

She grabs the gun again, aims it to where the voice came and her eyes widen when she sees Lizzie. 

The CEO sits comfortably, blue suit once again on and hair down. The darkness shrouds her to perfection and Hope still doesn’t lower the weapon.

“Lizzie?”

“Daughter of Klaus Mikaelson, also known to the dark side as the hybrid because of his unique strategy to murder people from up close and from far away.”

Hope’s breath shakes, eyes widening when she sees the file on Lizzie’s lap. The blonde continues looking at her, face showing no emotion.

She feels scared, even with a gun in her hand and Lizzie just sitting before her. It’s another type of fear, a fear when she is confronted with what she has tried avoiding, both as a person and as an assassin.

“People who want the job done call you the tribrid. An assassin so good no one ever sees them coming, who invites targets into their own home and kills them. Seemingly so careless, and yet with robotic precision.”

Lizzie gets up then, dusts her jacket and walks closer. Hope’s hand shakes, stilling when Lizzie’s chest hits the barrel of the gun. She can see her eyes now, blue and so clear, and despite that, the coldest they had ever been.

“The tribrid is usually used by powerful people with money to get rid of other people. This time, this mysterious assassin was tasked with someone new.”

Lizzie raises the file so Hope can see it. Lizzie’s smiling faces, pictures of her out with Josie, her at the bar, her at the office. All of them had her face circled in red.

“The price was big wasn’t it?” Lizzie scoffs, takes another step and Hope steps back, the gun still pointed at Lizzie’s chest. “Twenty million is what I heard. Or is it ten, now that you asked for extra time?”

Hope can feel the tears on her cheeks, salty and she lets out a gasp when Lizzie grabs the gun, thrusting it against her chest, holding it in place.

“Do it, _ tribrid _. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do?”

“I can’t. I _can’t_,” Hope manages to say, the gun shaking in her hand. Lizzie glares at her, a mix of anger and sadness. 

“Do it, goddamnit! I’m right here, just pull the fucking trigger.”

She remembers a quote on those moments. One her father told her when he used to tell her tales.

_ Sometimes, the person you would die for is standing behind the trigger. _

Hope doesn’t want to be that person. Never wanted and she never thought she would end up being the one behind it and hate it.

“I can’t. Oh god, I can’t .”

“Fucking _ do it! _“

A shot resonates in the house.

A file falls on the ground.

All is silent beside rapid heartbeats.

—

The music is calm, some soft New Orleans jazz that Hope herself had picked from her father’s albums.

She wipes glasses in silence, the bar almost empty apart from a few customers in the corner. It’s raining outside, pouring and Hope watches with the wonder that everyone has when they look towards a street and observe how different, how unique everyone looks.

Penelope waves at her at the door before leaving, having finished everything and ready to go home to Josie. Hope missed the feeling of having a home.

Hope smiles slightly when she looks at the man who sits beside the counter, curly hair wet and sticking on his forehead.

“Landon Kirby, as I live and breathe.”

Landon smiles, drinking the water Hope gives him in gulps. “Hi, Hope. How’s it going?”

She motions to the calmness surrounding her.

“As you can see, nothing much to do tonight. Question is, why is a new CEO like you as wet as if you ran in the rain?”

“Because I-“ he stops to grab the towel Hope gives him “-thank you, I had to meet with Raf here and my office is nearby. No need for a driver for a hundred meters walk.”

Hope doesn’t reply, waits until the tall man joins them, having just arrived. His grin is as wide as Landon’s, popping his button open and taking the Sangria wine Hope gives him.

“Raf, hey. How was work?”

Raf shrugs, taking the towel from his brother and wiping his own head. Hope feels bad for them, knows they will probably catch a cold with sitting there wet and sweaty.

“My bro here decided it was fun to let me do his work while he had a meeting. But Josie was glad to help me get used to being a CFO so it was easy to handle most things.”

Hope nods her head and leaves them to engage in work conversation as she serves another customer. Friendships had formed ever since Landon became CEO of Kirby Cooperation. Most of these were out of necessity, Josie helping the boys with their new positions and then the boys becoming part of their group.

“We’re going to have an early night in. See you tomorrow?”

“I think we were going to have dinner at Penelope’s tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah, Jo and I are gonna make some mean pasta,” says Raf.

They share a laugh before the boys leave, running to Raf’s car before they got even more soaked.

The same old silence falls over the bar again. The last customers leave, Hope smiles when she sees the tip they leave her.

_ With you every night _

_ Even though you are silent _

_ I make love _

_ like every person does _

Hope leans against the counter, pulls her gun out and starts cleaning it. It’s not much, just seeing if it was well and if she needed to reload it.

Her ears pick up the heels walking closer even if they are focused on the familiar song playing.

_ You're the fairest _

_ Like all notes, like all the notes of this song _

_ more pretty than the lies of a dream _

Her arm extends, grabs a glass and she pushes the scotch bottle close with her gun, opens it with her thumb and forefinger.

The orange drink is like a precious melted stone, the sound of it hitting the ice almost music to her ears.

“Extra today?” she asks, still not looking up.

“Just normal.”

The bottle is raised, Hope adds another ice cube and places it gently on the counter.

_ I separate from your love _

_ I leave tonight and I don't want to _

_ Let my heart sleep in your hands _

“It seems my bar has turned in quite the meet up for rich people.”

A chuckle. “What can I say? No one makes scotch quite like you.”

Hope smiles, walks to close the door and feels calmer when she does. She chooses to sit on a stool now, a scotch sliding before her.

Hope has to admit, as she drinks it, she _ does _ make a mean scotch.

_ Like a summer fog _

_ You touched my soles _

_ You give me goosebumps _

_ That come and go like butterflies _

“I have to agree now.”

“Won’t you continue cleaning the gun? Who knows who can slide in at any time?”

Hope laughs, grabs it and starts disassembling it slowly. Each part is clean, at the best condition they can be.

“Et Tu, Brutus?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Brute.”

Hope starts putting it back in place, pausing to tap a bullet in thoughts.

“Well _ someone _ did say it was Brute.”

Scotch is added on the glass again, the bottle being placed on the counter for easy access.

Hope continues looking at her gun as she placed each piece in its place. “I hope you know you have to pay for that.”

_ So I give you my lips _

_ So I touch your hands _

_ With the hope in magic _

_ So that maybe a wonder happens _

“I’m sure I can buy you your whole bar, Hope.”

“Why would you buy me my own bar again?”

Hope’s gun is snatched from her hand and she closes her eyes. The silence is good, comfortable and she enjoys the clicking of the empty gun.

“May I have this dance?”

Hope opens her eyes, smiles at the woman before her. The gun is placed on the counter again, doesn’t feel dangerous between them.

“Of course, Elizabeth. Why not?”

—

_ A shot resonates in the house. _

_ A file falls on the ground. _

_ All is silent beside rapid heartbeats. _

_ Hope notices two things before then. _

_ Firstly, when Lizzie looks at her, she doesn’t really look at her. Her eyes move from Hope to the side, something which Hope notices immediately. _

_ Secondly, there is a shadow on the corner, seemingly hidden from Hope’s eyes but she is a professional assassin, her eyes are trained to look at the darkness. _

_ She hears a grunt and Lizzie slams the lights on. Hope keeps her gun up, tears forgotten and eyes focused. _

_ “Vordemus Kirby. Always not a pleasure to see you,” says Lizzie. _

_ Hope moves further, shoots at his hand and he falls to his knees, his gun thrown away. Even in pain, he looks at Hope and Lizzie with hate. _

_ “To be honest, I’m really insulted you thought Lizzie’s head cost twenty million. And we never talked about lowering the price,” says Hope. _

_ The old man glares at them, blood coming from his stomach and hand. Hope thinks it’s a shame he is bleeding on her new couch. _

_ “Oh no worries, Hope, I’ll give you twice as much for his.” _

_ Hope smiles, walks closer until the barrel of her gun hits his forehead. “See you in hell, then.” _

_ He can’t even utter a word as Hope pulls the trigger. They stand in silence, Hope’s already bloody shoes red with blood more than ever. _

_ “Can I call in that one favor and have you help me with the body?” _

_ Lizzie looks at her in disgust. “Hell no. I’m not putting blood anywhere near my shoes.” _

_ “I saved your life!” _

_ “You were planning on taking it two months ago!” _

_ Hope snickers. “Actually it was two and a half.” _

_ Lizzie glares at her and a moment later Penelope opens the door. Silence falls, Hope with Vordemus’ blood at her feet, Lizzie with her hands on her pocket and once again, a dead body between them. _

_ Penelope sighs. “I’m really starting to feel as if this is your foreplay.” _

_ They can only laugh, sharing a glance that Hope understands as meaning they have to talk later. _

—

_ You're my secret _

_ And nobody else knows it _

_ You come every night _

_ In my bed _

_ and stay by my side _

Lizzie laughs, her red dress just as beautiful on her as it looked when they first met. She takes the hand Hope gives her, leads her to the center of the bar.

Hope likes how warm Lizzie is under her fingers, her hips soft and their hands lacing.

“Elizabeth is too old and boring.”

Hope smiles, pulls her hand close and kisses Lizzie’s palm, the blonde’s hand on her shoulder tightening.

“I don’t think that at all.”

Lizzie leans closer, their foreheads touching as they swayed slowly to the music. Both of them don’t talk, the silence enough for the moment.

You don’t need words to talk with someone who knows you as you know yourself.

“Landon is doing well with his new job.”

Hope can almost hear Lizzie’s smile. “For a mop head, he sure is fair and doing well in business.”

“Your trust in him and Raf was well placed.”

“As usual, I’m once again, _ right _.”

The roll of her eyes she gives Lizzie is enough of a reply.

The rain continues falling. The song continues filling the silence that words aren’t big enough, _ important _ enough to do.

“You know, we never continued our conversation about passion.”

Hope spins her around, a feat which makes them laugh from how difficult she has it. The downfalls of being short.

“What did we leave unsaid about passion?”

Lizzie shrugs. “A lot. What are you passionate about, Hope Mikaelson?”

Hope continues dancing in silence as she thinks. 

She’s passionate about painting. About seeing paint on her fingers, creating masterpieces and hearing Josie tease her about how she won’t always be there to help Hope wipe it off.

She’s passionate about putting justice in its place. About killing men who have done worse than she has. If you murder a hundred men, the number of killers is ninety nine less, Penelope tells her as she wipes the blood off of Hope’s hand and clothes.

She’s passionate about Lizzie. About hearing her talk about the multiple projects her company has, about living these past few months at the risk of having to kill her and living the future with thinking about something more.

“I’m passionate about life. About love.”

Lizzie gives her a smile, and when she kisses Hope, it feels exactly like the always and forever her parents would tell her about.

Lizzie was right about what she told her back then.

Murder _ did _ bring people closer than marriage ever could.

—

_ They sit in silence down at the bar, Hope still in her bloody clothes. Lizzie takes off her jacket. The scotch bottle is ready for them, Hope fills two glasses and Lizzie takes one. _

_ “You knew who I was.” _

_ Lizzie nods her head, taps a tune with her nails on the counter. “One of the things my mom told me about. The tribrid, an assassin every CEO knows about.” _

_ Hope sighs, fills her glass again. It’s weird, being with Lizzie in a situation so familiar and yet, with all the cards laid on the table. It was the strangest situation she had ever been in. _

_ “And you knew I was going to kill you.” _

_ Lizzie laughs then, giving Hope a soft look. “There was a reason why I was here, back when you were closing the bar that day. I had heard whispers about you. I learned about your mission later on.” _

_ Hope remembers it too well. Red dress, mysterious deep blue eyes and a face sculpted by the gods. The need to be close and yet being afraid, without reason. _

_ “No one knows my real name, or who I am. How did you?” asks Hope. Lizzie takes another gulp, stares at her glass. _

_ “My mom used to know your dad. I guess she kept tabs on you.” _

_ “Is Caroline your mom? Caroline Forbes?” _

_ Lizzie nods her head. Only then does Hope understand her father told her why under no price or circumstance should she kill Caroline if she ever took her father’s mantle. _

_ “Such a small world.” _

_ Silence falls again. Hope notices that that tends to happen a lot between them, letting the silence speak for each other. _

_ “If you check your bank account, 30 million dollars are now in there. For killing Vordemus and all,” says Lizzie. _

_ Hope nearly chokes on her drink. “How did he even get here? How did you even know I would kill him?” _

_ “You’re a good assassin, Mikaelson. I’ve seen the people you have killed, all people with a bad track record. Everyone knows what kind of bastard Vordemus is.” _

_ Lizzie’s right, of course, she was. If it was something illegal and wrong, Vordemus probably did it with Kirby Corp. _

_ “He had a son he put for adoption in secret.” Lizzie is calm as she says it, a calculating look on her face when she turns to Hope. _

_ “His name is Landon, also a friend of mine. He lives with his foster brother Raf. Both of them are good men.” _

_ Hope realizes her plan immediately. “That’s why Vordemus was here, wasn’t he? You knew if I killed him it would open an opportunity for Landon.” _

_ Lizzie nods her head, way too calm for someone who nearly got killed and who saw someone get murdered. “Vordemus told me you were going to kill me. I acted as if I didn’t know and accepted his deal. He basically proposed that I lead him to your home so he could kill you and I got out alive.” _

_ “But you manipulated him,” wonders Hope out loud, stopping to fill Lizzie’s glass, “you told him you would let him kill me but used that chance so I could kill him.” _

_ “I’m a good businesswoman, what can I say? I turn everything to my advantage.” _

_ Hope looks at her, studies Lizzie. The woman isn’t smiling, simply staring at Hope with curiosity in her eyes. Both of them are waiting for the other to make a move. _

_ “Saved my life twice by now, Elizabeth. Saved the life of someone who was planning on killing you all this time.” _

_ Lizzie smiles then. “You wouldn’t kill me.” _

_ Hope looks at her, surprised. “That’s confident of you.” _

_ “You simply wouldn’t. I knew it the moment you offered me free scotch that rainy day we first met.” _

_ Lizzie leans closer, eyes blue and deep as an ocean. They are magical, Hope decides she loves looking into them. _

_ “Well, you aren’t wrong there.” _

_ And she isn’t. Hope is sure that Lizzie knew she wouldn’t kill her even before Hope herself knew. Perhaps that was the beauty of them, that they knew each other better than they knew themselves. _

_ “Kiss me,” whispers Hope. Because if Lizzie doesn’t kiss her now, Hope is pretty sure she will go mad. _

_ Lizzie captures her lips in a soft kiss. “I love you, Hope.” _

_ Hope can only reply with the same words, the emotions in them just as strong. _

_ “And I love you too, Lizzie.” _

_ “Aw, you called me Lizzie.” _

_ “Do you want me to call you Elizabeth again? What’s next, you accepting you are old? Want a crane too?” _

_ “Suddenly killing you is looking better than ever.” _

_ “Come on. Let’s play a tune before anyone comes and I get to use my gun again on the same night.” _

_ “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to, but I will kill you if I find a spec of blood in my suit again.” _

_ “Such big demands, Lizzie. Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to tell an assassin to not get dirty?”_

_Lizzie smirks as she sits down on the piano bench. “Never really cared for the rules to begin with.”_

_Hope can only lean closer, kisses her as Lizzie’s hand start a familiar tune._

—

“Where is the map?!”

Hope throws Lizzie a glance as the blonde goes through their bags. “What map?”

“The map we were supposed to use on this trip!”

Hope rolls her eyes. “Liz, didn’t we agree we would use a GPS when we went to Albania?”

Lizzie sighs loudly, throwing her head against the headrest harder than necessary. Ever the dramatic, but Hope loved that about Lizzie. The blonde had decided that after she nearly got killed by the girl she fell for, traveling was necessary. Hope still believed that she decided that because of what she had told Lizzie a year ago and a half when they were still getting to know each other.

“I talked with a girl who lives here and she said you can only enjoy it truly with a map! A map, Hope!”

“Oh god, Liz, just buy a map then. Aren’t you a millionaire?”

“Absolutely not. We can only spend a thousand dollars for this whole trip. I’m not using my money for a map.”

Hope laughs loudly, turns the wheel when she sees the sign reading _ Durres. _They had been traveling for an hour, mostly because Lizzie suggested they didn’t take the highway from the airport. She wanted them to experience the whole beauty of traveling and taking in everything they drove by.

“Your money, your call. We have arrived though, so can you show me where the hell the hotel is?”

Her eyes widen in fear when she sees the mischievous look in Lizzie’s face. “What hotel do you mean? We are camping at the Royal Villa.”

There are buildings all around them and Hope finds it in herself she enjoys it. The city was alive at this time of the day, teenagers with bags getting out of schools and older people rushing from one side of the street to the other.

“I am pretty sure that wasn’t allowed for the public? Didn’t your friend say so?”

“She also said you could if you had the right connections. It seems connections are quite needed in Albania, especially since everyone knows everyone. Small country perks.”

“Fine then,” Hope pauses the car right before a meat shop, _ EHW, _“where was your friend again? She can help us find this Villa and all.”

Lizzie motions before them, the street long and with palm trees on each side. “At the end of this boulevard. Pretty sure it’s simply going straight and straight until you have to turn right and then straight again.”

Hope looks at her in confusion, starting the car again. “Okay, dude, we are going to get your friend because you may be smart but you suck as a GPS.”

Lizzie laughs beside her, lacing their hands together as Hope drives them. She seems weirdly nervous then, looking at Hope with a certain softness she couldn’t understand.

“I hope you enjoy this trip. It felt right to travel to see the place where our song comes from.”

Hope only kisses her hand. “I enjoy anything as long as I’m with you.”

“And when you don’t have to kill me.”

“Lizzie!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. As long as you don’t have to choose how to kill me.”

Hope only ignores her, deciding to think about the velvet box in her pocket.

Later on, with scotch between them and stars being their only light, Hope opens the box the same way she opens a new future for her and Lizzie.

Lizzie kisses her and Hope thinks that yeah, not getting those millions to kill Lizzie _ really _ was the best decision she had ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what u think on my twitter @thehopesaltzman


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